


Right by You

by Onceyourempire



Series: Reverse AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onceyourempire/pseuds/Onceyourempire
Summary: {Reverse AU -- Blackwatch Era McCree and Game Era McCree are switched in time}McCree isn't under his command anymore, not really. He still calls him Commander, acts respectful, but there's a fire in his eye that speaks of something new.Gabe looks twice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> We spent a lot of time discussing reverse au and the potential of mcreyes in a world where they were about the same age during blackwatch.
> 
> I, of course, got my hands on it and made it sad.
> 
> also is there a word for that kink folks had when winter solider came out and ppl were into his robot arm bc thats in this

Little Jesse McCree had been nothing to write home about. He'd grow into his own, in time, but he was just a kid. Gabe had never thought of him any differently.

But this McCree? The older, cocksure one who's somehow replaced his youngest recruit? Gabe keeps looking twice.

It's bizarre to see this adult parody of the kid blackwatch knows walking around like he owns the place. Maybe, in his mind, he does. After all, he's been here before. He's seen the future of blackwatch, knows every bit of it and their hq better than any of them do. He has time and age on his side. No one quite knows what to do with him while they wait for Winston to send him back, but McCree manages to sneak his way into daily  
routine all the same. Gabe can't get over it, even as his agents adjust. McCree's tall, able to look Gabe right in the eye when they talk -- and he does meet Gabe's stern looks now, with a smile, like they're equals. He's older than Gabe too, which is alarming in and of itself. He smokes, frequently, a supply of seemingly endless cigars. His voice is deeper, and he's let his old drawl saunter into his tone. His beard isn't unbearable.

He looks good. He looks healthy. He looks happy. As odd as it all is, Gabe feels a sense of relief when he sees McCree walk by. He did alright by Jesse after all.

He knows McCree watches him like Jesse used to. He didn't grow out of everything, apparently. McCree doesn't tag along everywhere he goes, doesn't hang around Gabe's office when he'd not needed, but his expression still belays an affection beyond commander and agent. Gabe's never been too head-up about it before. He was hoping it would die off with maturity, but no such luck. It wouldn't be so bad if McCree hadn't grown up to be so -- 

McCree pins him to the mat, and Gabe swears under his breath. They're sparring, for the first time since the switch-up, and this McCree seems to know all his tricks. It's alarming and annoying, and Gabe feels anger churn in his belly. He turns his head and lifts his shoulders to prepare breaking the hold when he feels McCree press down his hips. Gabe grunts in surprise. McCree is hard, and he's huge. Part of Gabe is even angrier that McCree would try something like this, but god he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn't noticed a new fire in McCree's eyes that hadn't ever been in Jesse's. It always makes him want to smack that grin right off his mouth and then push McCree to his knees. Gabe wants this McCree in a way he's disgusted by. He throws his shoulder up into McCree's chin, hears the satisfying clack of teeth, and rolls them both over. He pins McCree and stares him down while Porter does the count off. They say ten and Gabe leans in.

"Don't you dare pull that shit." He growls, baring his teeth. McCree looks stunned, but bares his own teeth in a wild grin. 

"Yessir Commander." He replies, and his voice is low and rumbles in his chest. "Never again."

Gabe takes a shower. He feels the ghost of McCree on his back, and shudders.

It’s days later when McCree tries again. Gabe had almost let his guard slip.

McCree catches him in the hallway near his office and crowds him up against a wall, arm against the wall to the left of Gabe's head. He's got another cigar in his mouth, but he manages a lopsided smile around it. Gabe can't hardly see his eyes because he's got the damn hat tipped down.

"Looks like you're trying that shit again, McCree." Gabe says casually. "Thought I made myself clear."

"You did, Commander, but I was thinkin' you meant specifically durin' fights. I get that, lotta people around. Here, it's just you and me." McCree leans in a little, and Gabe can see his eyes clearer as he barely tips the brim of his hat up. He looks confident, but calm. He's self-assured. His eyes squint when he smiles, and Gabe can see crows feet.

Gabe reaches up and takes the cigar right out of McCree's mouth. He takes a long drag, and blows the smoke right back in McCree's stunned face. He then drops it on the ground and crushes it with his boot.

"Just you and me, cowboy." Gabe says, and looks into McCree's watery eyes. "What's your big plan then? If we're alone, I'll swoon into your arms?" Gabe snorts, and feels his smile grow. McCree blinks hard a few times, and he looks down. The hand near Gabe's head curls into a fist against the wall.

"I haven't been your cowboy in a long time, Commander." McCree says, and the catch in his voice makes Gabe's stomach drop. McCree never mentioned his future. Gabe's never asked. He'd assumed a lot of things. 

"McCree." Gabe says, and cups a hand around the back of McCree's neck. McCree looks up, and he looks at Gabe like he's seeing him for the first time -- or the last. 

"Gabriel." McCree says, almost worshipful, and Gabe takes a deep breath through his nose. His cowboy is young, and impulsive, and kind, and dumb. He's a kid. This man in front of him hasn't been that boy in a long time, and he's looking at Gabe like he never wants to see anything else. He leans closer, presses the tips of his metal fingers to Gabe's hip, and Gabe kisses him. He kisses McCree senseless, demanding and biting until McCree groans and presses him hard into the wall. McCree's metal hand tugs at his hoodie while the flesh one scrambles for a zipper. McCree wants to touch, feel his skin, and Gabe actually wants him to. He wants McCree, he wants to push him across his desk, wants those metal fingers in his mouth, wants to hear McCree say his name like that again.

McCree obliges him, as he always has.

"Gabriel" he says, and presses his metal thumb against Gabe's lips. Gabe opens his mouth, careful of the joints and hinges, and seals his lips around it. He wonders if McCree can even feel it, or if the image is what makes him groan like that. He doesn't know how McCree lost his arm. He's been fascinated with it since the first day, and McCree's told him nothing but lies. McCree removes his thumb and runs it along Gabe's lips.

"Can you feel anything?" Gabe asks before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the palm.

"Nah. Didn't want to, in case somethin' went wrong." McCree replies, curling his hand around Gabe's cheek. He looks like he wants to say something else, maybe the truth, maybe something much sweeter and far worse, but Gabe knocks a knee between his legs and _grinds_ and McCree breathes instead.

They stumble into his office, and McCree peels off layers while Gabe locks the door with surprisingly steady hands. 

"Athena?" Gabe says, turning to face McCree. He's managed to remove his shirt, spurs, and boots, but kept the hat on. He's gained weight around the middle in his thirties, as well as finally grown in all the body hair he complained about not having. He has a goddamn farmer's tan. Gabe wants and wants and wants.

"Yes, Commander?" The AI pipes in through a speaker in the ceiling.

"This is a private conversation. Please cease all video and audio recordings until my say-so."

"Affirmative, Commander."

The semi permanent hum of Athena's processes dims. McCree cocks his head and smiles fondly. Gabe is on him in an instant.

McCree tucks his face into Gabe's neck while Gabe fusses with his own tactical pants and hoodie. He breathes in deeply and makes an odd sound before beginning to kiss his way down Gabe's throat. 

"I'm gonna tell you one secret, Commander. I don't think this will alter time too much." McCree says, and Gabe stops his angry fight with his hoodie to lean back and meet McCree's eyes. McCree's crow's feet are back. "When I was young, I found one of your hoodies. Didn't think you'd miss it." McCree leans in again, presses a soft kiss to the underside of Gabe's jaw. "Kept it until it didn't smell like you no more, and then kept on keepin' it."

Gabe snorts. He knew this already. He thought it was weird, but figured the confrontation wasn't worth the hoodie. He could just get another one.

"I missed you." McCree says, and Gabe is about to ask a question he doesn't want the answer to when McCree moves Gabe's hands away from the hoodie zipper and pulls it down in one smooth motion. Gabe sighs and shrugs out of both it and his shirt before tangling his fingers in McCree's hair and bringing him back in. McCree can’t get enough of him, can’t stop running his hands over Gabe’s bare chest. When he curls his fingers in the joints of his metal hand catch on Gabe’s scars. McCree kisses hard, nipping at Gabe’s lips before opening his mouth. He tastes disgustingly of smoke. Gabe bites back.

“Fuck.” McCree says when Gabe moves his mouth to his neck. “Boss --” He struggles for words, and Gabe takes the moment to take the hat off his head. McCree wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t finish his sentence. Gabe tosses the hat in a neat arc onto the seat of the desk chair.

“What do you want, McCree?” He asks, framing McCree’s face with his hands. He grew into handsome like he grew into his cowboy schtick, Gabe thinks, and moves his hands up to tangle fingers in thick hair. Gabe pulls gently on McCree’s hair. Jesse closes his eyes and lets his head be pulled back, exposing his neck. He trusts Gabe, that’s clear in his relaxed body language. Whatever happened to McCree, however he lost his arm, he still trusts Gabe. Gabe kisses him. “McCree, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to fuck your thighs.” McCree says bluntly, and Gabe makes eye contact. McCree’s pupils are wide but he’s squinting like he’s worried about how Gabe will react. Gabe smiles, feels it spread across his mouth and tilt high on the right side. “I got lube.” McCree adds, a smile of his own growing.

“Alright.” Gabe replies, and gives McCree’s hair one last tug before stepping back. McCree slips around him towards the door, but stops. He turns and looks at Gabe. “You stayin’?” he asks, and Gabe can see his shoulders tense. Gabe picks his shirt off the ground and tosses it to McCree.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He responds, and McCree relaxes. He pulls on Gabe’s shirt and slips out the door.

Gabe runs his hands over his head and walks back to the desk. He chucks the hat onto the floor and sits in the chair, leaning back. He closes his eyes, thinks of McCree’s hands on his chest and the taste of ash. He pushes the image of a younger Jesse scared and bloody in his interrogation room out of mind. He hears the door open and shut, and only opens his eyes when he feels a bare foot on his knee. McCree is sitting on the desk facing him with a tube in one hand. 

“You threw my hat on the ground, Boss?” McCree laughs, “That’s cold.”

“Your foot is cold, McCree.” Gabe responds, pushing it off his knee and standing up. He runs his hands up McCree’s thighs as he leans in to kiss him again, and McCree sighs.

“Porter saw me.” He says, leaning back to strip Gabe’s shirt off himself. “Didn’t say anything but they knew the shirt wasn’t mine.” Gabe bites the inside of his cheek. He puts a hand on the seam where McCree’s prosthetic meets skin and runs his thumb along the line. He can’t stop focusing on it. He thinks about what could have happened. It’s such an obvious marker that McCree has seen things that Gabe can’t even fathom yet. 

“It wasn’t your fault, if that makes you feel better.” McCree says. Gabe manages to tear his gaze away to look at McCree’s face. He can’t think of anything to say to that, because it doesn’t actually make him feel any better. He slaps McCree’s thigh and laughs when McCree yelps. McCree starts to complain, but then Gabe stands out of reach and unbuttons his pants and he shuts right up. Gabe sees McCree’s fingers clench on the edge of the desk as Gabe pushes his pants down his thighs, and the creak the fake wood makes them both startle. Gabe steps forward again and grabs McCree’s wrists in one move, before tugging McCree to his feet. He feels the tendons in McCree’s human wrist tense, and grips just a little tighter.

“You still want to fuck my thighs, McCree?” he asks, and McCree groans a little. “Where’s your confidence now?”

“Honestly sir, I was happy to let you run the show.” McCree says, “But if you want to change that up I’m more then happy to try.” Gabe is tempted, can’t remember the last time he wasn’t in control. McCree gently tests his hold, muscles in his arms flexing. They stare down. Gabe releases his hands.

“Show me what you can do.” He says. He leans in. “Impress me, McCree.”

“I’ll do my best, Boss.” A pause. “If you need me to stop --”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Alright.”

McCree holds his face in both hands and kisses him gently. It’s sweet, fine, but Gabe was expecting more. He’s barely hard yet, which is not promising. 

McCree suddenly pulls away, and uses a move Gabe taught him to reverse their positions and slam Gabe chest down onto the desk. He then cages in Gabe, hands on either side of Gabe’s shoulders and crotch pressed against his ass. Even only half hard, McCree’s dick isn’t small, and Gabe remembers the weight of it against him in the sparring match. The situation is suddenly much more promising.

“Okay?” McCree asks, laying himself over Gabe’s back and speaking quietly into his ear.

“Fine. I’ll deal.” Gabe widens his stance and grinds back. “Not impressed.”

McCree groans again, and nips at his earlobe. He doesn’t respond, instead moving his right hand down to Gabe’s still covered dick. He barely rubs, instead pushing his hips into Gabe’s to force him to rut into McCree’s hand himself. Gabe takes a deep breath and rocks forward, alternating between McCree’s hand and pushing back into McCree’s crotch. He gets his arms under him and pushes up on his elbows, holding both him and McCree up. McCree uses his now free hand to open his own jeans and the brush of metal against Gabe’s exposed lower back makes him shiver. He has a brief desire to ask McCree to switch hands and clenches his jaw.

With McCree’s pants go his underwear and Gabe can feel his now hard cock press against Gabe’s ass. Gabe takes a slow breath, and arches his back into McCree’s front. He’s almost fully hard himself, and he wants to make McCree work harder for it, but fuck it’s been a long time, and McCree’s going to leave a mess of bruises on his shoulder with all the biting and kissing he’s doing. If Gabe’s lucky, he might not leave a rug burn from his beard, but he can already feel the skin getting hot. He’ll notice it every time he puts on armor for days.

“McCree--” McCree stops dead, and Gabe feels lightheaded knowing that he still has power here. He tries to find a way to ask for more without giving that up, and McCree understands. He moves both hands and pushes down Gabe’s boxers. He hesitates, then runs his metal hand up the inside of Gabe’s thigh. Gabe takes a short sharp breath in.

“You like it that much, Gabe?” McCree’s smiling when he presses a kiss to the back of Gabe’s neck. He reaches forward and down, gently gripping the base of Gabe’s cock. “This hand? Is that what you want?”

“Fuck.” Gabe pounds his fist into the desk and drops his head. “McCree, move.” McCree laughs quietly, and drags his hand slowly up Gabe’s cock. The metal is smooth but not enough to be an easy motion, and the roughness of it makes Gabe tense. It’s a slow movement, but the unfamiliarity and anxiety of having this prosthetic jack him is more than enough sensation to get Gabe fully hard. McCree doesn’t talk as much as Gabe thought he would, seemingly content to leave marks across Gabe’s shoulders and back instead. When he does, it’s just to say Gabe’s name in a low rumble. To be fair, Gabe isn’t saying anything either, but McCree is normally so happy to talk his ear off.

“Gabe, I’m --” McCree starts, then sucks his teeth. Gabe looks over his shoulder, but McCree is too close to get a good look at his face. Gabe manages to stop himself before he calls McCree ‘Kid’.

“Jesse,” he says instead, and clenches his jaw so fast it hurts. McCree’s breathing stutters.He removes his hand from Gabe’s cock and put it on his thigh instead.

“Move ‘em closer, but not together.” McCree says, and reaches blindly for the lube on the desk. Gabe looks back and elbows it closer to his grasping hand. He adjusts his weight and brings his feet closer in. He feels McCree move away and only knows he’s kneeling when he feels McCree’s mouth on the insides of his thighs.

“Shit, McCree.” He says, resisting the urge to reach back and pull on McCree’s hair.

“Jesse.” McCree replies, and begins to leave hickies on his thighs. His skin is going to be burning down there too, he knows it, and he doesn’t care. He’s going to look like a mess in the mirror tomorrow, and that’s fine. He’s going to have a hard time looking Jesse in the eye when he gets back.

“Jesse, don’t make me fuck you up.” He says, and McCree’s laugh is loud and startled. “I’ll crush your head if you don’t stop fucking around.”

McCree grips the outsides of both his thighs. “Another time.” He quips, and Gabe can feel him shaking his hair out of his face. His hands vanish, and when Gabe looks back McCree is actually tying his hair back into a sad ponytail. He looks up, grins, and pops open the lube.

He takes his sweet time spreading the lube between Gabe’s thighs, clearly aiming for the sloppiest fuck possible. Gabe doesn’t mind. That’s his preference anyway. McCree even has the courtesy to wipe the remaining smears on his own leg instead of Gabe before getting back to his feet.

“Flip over, wouldya?” McCree asks, closing the lube. Gabe cracks his back as he stands up straight. That position was killing his elbows and back, but it feels off to complain to McCree about aches. He turns and sits on the desk, then looks at McCree. Now that his hair is mostly out of his face it’s easier to see his expression. It’s undeniably affectionate, and Gabe wants to wince. He knows he has no true authority over this McCree, that there’s no imbalance of power between them, but that look in his eyes is too familiar. McCree puts a hand on the middle of Gabe’s chest and pushes him flat against the desk. He grips Gabe’s legs and puts them both over his right shoulder.

“Tense your thighs a little, darlin’.” McCree says, and Gabe does wince now. McCree doesn’t seem to notice. He tightens his thighs.

McCree fucks in slowly at first, adjusting his grip, but it doesn’t take long for him to find his pace. Every full push in bumps the head of McCree’s cock against Gabe’s balls, making him jolt until he gets used to it. He reaches down to wrap a hand around his own dick, but McCree catches his hand with his metal one.

“Wait. I’ll take care of you.” He promises, squeezing Gabe’s hand. “ _Let_ me” Gabe snorts, pulling his hand away, but doesn’t try it again. 

The sensation of McCree’s thick cock pressing between his thighs, hot and sloppy with lube, won’t be enough to keep him as hard as physical contact will, but it feels pretty damn arousing. The peek of his head appearing between his thighs when Gabe looks down isn’t bad either. Gabe looks at McCree’s face, and that’s where the real showstopper is. The hair not in the ponytail is sticking to his neck and face, and he’s biting his lower lip as he presses his face against Gabe’s legs. He releases his lip to take a deep breath, then turns his head to look down at Gabe. He looks good. He looks so good, and Gabe wishes he could grab him and lick into his mouth and open him up and make him say --

“Gabriel” McCree rasps, and Gabe groans. McCree’s hips slap into the back of Gabe’s thighs and his grip on Gabe’s legs gets tight enough to hurt. He comes, hard, hiding his face behind his arms and Gabe’s legs. His cum sticks between Gabe’s thighs, and when McCree spreads his legs a string of it connects them. He breaks it with his finger, then gingerly kneels between Gabe’s legs. He leans in, and licks his own cum off the insides of Gabe’s legs in long, slow swipes. His hair brushes Gabe’s dick and he starts to get hard again. Gabe holds McCree’s bangs out of his face with his palm, and McCree beams up at him.

“You’re gonna take care of me, huh?” He asks quietly, and McCree just hums before turning his face and kissing Gabe’s palm. He gently grips Gabe’s cock with his left hand, and grins when Gabe sucks in a breath.

“Enjoyin’ your new kink, Commander?” McCree laughs, rubbing his thumb over the head gently. “If I’d known I woulda gotten one of these years ago.”

“ _McCree_.” 

“Jesse.” McCree reminds him, before leaning forward and replacing his thumb with his mouth. Gabe uses both hands to push McCree’s hair back now, throwing one leg over his back.

“Atta boy.” He mutters, tugging gently on the ponytail, “Atta boy, Jesse.”

He wants to be embarrassed at how fast McCree’s mouth brings him to the edge, but McCree sucks dick like he fucks -- sloppily and with enthusiasm -- and Gabe’s always been weak for that. McCree keeps his left hand at the base of Gabe’s cock the whole time, and the loose grip is turning him on more than he likes. Drool spills over the hinges of his fingers when McCree swallows around his head and Gabe’s fingers get tight.

“Jesse.” He warns, pulling McCree closer with his leg. McCree looks up, and his eyes get squinty the way they do when he smiles. McCree’s still watching him when Gabe closes his eyes and comes, hips jerking up into his mouth. He feels McCree swallow his load without removing his mouth and swears. He leans back on his elbows, then just decides to give up and lays all the way onto his back. McCree laughs at him, and Gabe hears the chair squeak. “Don’t sit in my chair with your bare ass, McCree, I swear to God.” He says, kicking out without really looking. His foot connects with McCree’s leg.

“Boss!” McCree yelps, slapping at his leg, and Gabe laughs loudly. He blindly kicks out until he feels the arm of the chair and uses his legs to drag McCree closer. He plants his feet firmly on McCree’s thighs, and doesn’t budge in the face of McCree’s many complaints. Eventually, McCree sighs and rests his hands on Gabe’s calves.

“You don’t remember this happening when you were young, do you?” Gabe asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “The time shit.”

“No.” McCree taps his finger against Gabe’s leg. “I don’t really get it. Maybe I’ll get memories of what happened when I go back. I don’t know.”

“You miss it?”

“The future?” 

“Mhmm.”

McCree is quiet for a long time.

“Not as much as I missed here.”

Gabe sits up on his elbows, and really looks at McCree. McCree looks back, expression unreadable.

“You have to go home, Jesse.” Gabe says carefully.

“I know.” McCree replies, and now he’s definitely sad. He smiles, and it makes Gabe want to look away. “I wouldn’t take this away from myself.”

Gabe leans further forward, leans on his knees, reaches for McCree’s hands. McCree takes them.

“Everything I have done was to make sure you survived, Jesse. You, me, and everyone on this base. Whoever I am in the future, that will always be true. I did it for you.”

McCree chokes. He presses his face into their hands and cries. Gabe waits.

“Gabriel.” McCree chokes out through his snot and his pain.

“Yeah.” Gabe says, “I’m here. You’re home.” 

McCree does not let go for a long time, and Gabe does not make him. He presses his forehead into the top of McCree’s head, and wonders if he did right by him after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on 20's AU for those playing along at home -- there's a lot of research and I just started training for a new job.


End file.
